Kissing Santa Claus
by awomanking
Summary: I fulfilled a reviewer's request for a holiday fic... months after they asked. It still counts, right? Stephanie thinks Paul makes a pretty sexy Santa and there's a baby out of bed. Christmas, smut, and banter. Three of life's best things.


So here's a little story before the out-of-season story. On Christmas, a reviewer (I'm keeping you anonymous just in case, but feel free to give yourself a shout out on a review) requested a holiday fic. I've never done a request before so this was very exciting for me. The plot was pretty straightforward. 1) Inspired by the song 'I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus' 2) Role play 3) Baby Levesque interrupts 4) Smut.

Okay, I can do that :) It's a bit modified because I try and stay away from the kids and Chyna. The first makes me feel creepy and the second makes me feel uncomfortable. I pass no judgement on any author that dips into those categories though! I'm a shameless whore when it comes to reading fanfiction.

Anyways, enjoy! I gotta take a mini break from smut after this lol. Ya'll gonna get my ass fired.

lita101matt101, theeazymark, Guest, McMahon-Levesque, and PlayTheGame, thank you for reviewing 'Forever." I treasure each comment more than you could ever know.

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**Kissing Santa Claus**

One Shot

Christmas in America is a spectacle, less about religion, and more about commercialism, each coming year. Throughout the nation, people's interest ranges from indifference to extreme passion, just like everything else in the country. However, it would be safe to assume that the majority of America takes to the holiday and exploits it for all it's worth. Food, music, traditions, everything is related to December 25th from the moment the Thanksgiving turkey is digested.

The top one percent of the country is not immune.

With no budget, and the aid of assistants and online-shopping, America's rich and famous are carefree in celebrating. What is considered, to millions, to be the year's biggest point of stress, is often picture perfect for those with money and power.

Historically, the founding family of World Wrestling Entertainment had deep, winding roots within the low socio-economical community of the United States, but their current status rested just below that of Gates, Jobs, and Disney.

Everything with time.

Their lives were complete. Their homes were paradises. And the red and gold decorations of the holiday season complimented their rich surroundings perfectly. Mansions, penthouses, condos, yachts, jets, everything was ornamented with the season's festivities.

Not that these trappings were undeserved. From the head patriarch, to his grown children, to the in-laws, to even the grandchildren, hard work was revered and expected. Whether your job was as an executive, a wrestler, a producer, or a student, if your last name was McMahon, then you worked for what you got. And you got a lot.

Though the McMahon family didn't celebrate Christmas 2015 at the residence of their leader. Instead, it was celebrated at House Levesque, just a few towns over from Greenwich. Vince McMahon's daughter had married a proud man. The chairman could consider everyone in attendance as a McMahon, but Triple H's wife had only kept her maiden name as her middle, and her daughters didn't carry it at all.

This was not a discussion to be revisited on Christmas Eve.

So the six McMahon heirs and heiresses, regardless of their surnames, ran throughout the mansion for hours, playing and fighting, but mostly keeping away from the adults who drank, laughed, and danced in the kitchen. Dogs chased and barked each other and Christmas music played throughout the home via an intercom system.

The home was massive. Purchased with a combination of Stephanie McMahon's trust fund and Paul Levesque's earnings as one of WWE's most iconic Superstars, it fit every immediate and extended family member comfortably. Traditions were carried out throughout the day seamlessly. Games were played, and the younger children were reminded that Santa Claus was not guaranteed to come should they not stop whatever mischief they'd conjured up. The older ones rolled their eyes, but knew better than to do it in front of their parents.

This was especially true in the late afternoon. Tradition called for someone to don a Santa suit, carry a large sack of gifts, and "visit" the children before dinner. It was a silly tradition, but it was theirs, and the kids looked forward to it every year. Usually it was Vince who did the deed, but for the past few years, Paul had taken up the role. He made for one big, jacked up Father Christmas.

He wore the whole get-up. Boots, red pants, fake belly, red coat, white beard, and silly hat. It was funny and adorable and he thought he'd hate doing it, but his daughters' reactions were worth anything. Even now, with some of the kids getting older, the moment was exciting and fun. The pre-teens forgot to be cool and lit up as he stumbled up from the finished basement holding a bag of gifts. Each child got one present each, personally from "Santa Paul", the rest would come in the night as they slept.

Paul added an extra package for Vince who grumbled about gifts but genuinely laughed at the customized tie that was given to him from the rest of the family. Little VKM's scattered across the navy blue tie, along with KMAC and tiny butt cheeks. It was stupid, but funny, and anything that got a positive reaction out of Vince was considered a win.

The kids ripped open their packages, oohing and ahhing at their new toys before finding the nearest adult to wrestle with opening the actual plastic. It seemed to take no time to completely destroy the living room, and soon kids and adults alike were scurrying from the room.

Though everyone had just about left the room, Paul turned towards the fireplace to start disrobing his outfit. First the hat and beard were tossed onto a couch and then he went about unfastening the big belt and black buttons that closed his coat.

"Lookin good, Santa." His wife wolf-whistled as she flopped beside his already stripped garments, pulling the hat onto her own head.

"That's way too big for you. Your head is freakishly small."

She pouted but then the hat, indeed far too big, fell over her eyes. Stephanie joined Paul in openly laughing and tossed the hat aside.

"That looks uncomfortable." She gestured to the big, fake belly that was strapped to him in a fashion similar to how a bulletproof vest would.

"It is," he said while pulling the Velcro at his sides apart. "I put the undershirt on so it wouldn't scratch me like last year."

When he reached to pull the contraption up and over his head, his white thermal undershirt rode up, exposing his lower stomach and hips. He was a bit leaner than years passed. The red pants were a bit lose, hanging off his hips lower than he usual preferred. Stephanie appreciated the view and made herself comfortable on the couch while he folded up the pieces and stored them in the big Santa sack.

"I'll change the rest when I get downstairs. I was too hot to keep it on any longer." He didn't look up.

"You don't have to."

That got his attention.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, it's just the pants. The shirt's fine." He looked to her curiously and she adjusted her expression. She had been blatantly checking him out.

"Are you," he squinted at her amused," turned on by this outfit?"

"No," she said it girlishly.

"But you're not _not_ turned on by it either."

"Right."

He smiled, and was happy with the new direction of the conversation.

"I think it's the pants," she said, staring at his waistline with interest. "I like how low they are."

"You like the V," he added and pulled his shirt up a few inches to reveal where his lower abs met his obliques.

"I love the V," her eyes lit up at the sight of his sex lines and she met his gaze for just a second before returning her attention to them. "Maybe it's the color. You should wear red more."

"Steph…" His voice gave away when she looked to him again. He wanted to make a joke about her being in heat. She'd been all over him lately. But he couldn't. Her eyes had darkened and he was deadly serious in an instant.

"You're evil," he grumbled, looking away and letting his shirt fall. The sounds of children running down the stairs had pulled his attention.

"I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did," he retorted with a look. Then there were two children in front of him and he was refereeing an argument over a broken PlayStation controller. For three minutes, his head bounced back and forth between his middle daughter and Shane's youngest son. On and on they debated until his wife was beside him again, claiming authority with a stern tone.

"Enough of this. Was it an accident?" Both children nodded up at her. "Then say sorry to each other, and make do with one remote."

"It's a controller!" They exclaimed in unison.

"Whatever. It's almost time for dinner. Go put it away and get your siblings."

The children exchanged rapid apologies and ran back up the stairs. Paul then looked to his wife.

"I would've straightened it out."

"I know. You were doing it the right way, listening to them. But it's Christmas and I'm one fight away from murdering all of them."

Laughing he added, "You're dad would never approve."

"Not at first, but then the silence would kick in."

"He loves the chaos."

"Yeah, _now_. Where was all this understanding and patience when Shane and I were growing up?" She said it jokingly, but he knew she did find it a bit annoying.

"My parents are the same."

"No, they're not. They're saints."

"Compared to yours maybe."

"Everyone's a saint compared to them." She deadpanned.

Stephanie went to walk away but Paul took her hand.

"You are _not_ a saint." He whispered into her ear. She shivered at the feeling, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Now who's evil? You know we can't do anything."

It was true. They knew better than to kiss. Even though they were nose to nose. Even though they were a few rooms away from the other guests. Because when they started, they didn't stop. Fifteen years before and they would've risked it. They had risked it. There were so many close calls, before and after everyone found out about them. It was sexy, and addictive, they way they touched each other. Their families had called it toxic back then. Now the same people who forbade the union doted upon their children.

Such was life. Things change. They'd risk getting caught in 2000. The taboo of their relationship heightened the sexiness of their affair. Now, there was nothing exciting about raising Vince's blood pressure. They could do nothing but cringe at the thought of his saint-like mother seeing her baby boy doing anything sexual. And there was nothing, absolutely, positively nothing intriguing about having to explain the birds and bees to their children. Or worse, Shane's children.

So they settled for gazing into each other's eyes for a moment.

"We should probably help set the table."

"Seems like something the butler should be doing," he retorted.

"We don't have butler."

"We really should."

"No we shouldn't."

"I thought, being a McMahon and all, that you'd come with a butler."

She couldn't help but laugh, "I'm sorry to disappoint."

They were interrupted again by pitter-patter from upstairs, so they quickly escaped from the room to find tasks to accomplish. It was Shane's turn to referee anyways.

After dinner, members drifted off to their own homes to put their own little ones to bed. Vince and Linda McMahon took their leave at the same time as their son and his family departed. Cousins were forced to hug while Marissa and Stephanie embraced with promises to get together more often in the upcoming year. Linda scolded at Vince's usual farewell of heavy pats on the back to his son and son-in-law so the chairman embraced both men reluctantly.

"Grab my ass like that again, Vince, and see what happens."

Paul's joke received its usual reaction of laughs and snickers from the family. Vince appeared annoyed, but it was no secret how much he loved his son-in-law. Quick goodbyes turned into everyone loitering in the foyer for forty minutes, laughing and gossiping and hugging and kissing. The children whined and complained about the delay until finally, it was only the Levesques left in their residence.

"Showers and PJs before bed!" Exclaimed Stephanie with both her arms raised and gesturing towards her children like they were a flock.

"But Moooooom! The reindeer!"

"And cookies for Santa!"

"We will do all that," answered their mother, "_after_ you're ready for bed and you've all brushed your teeth."

Paul interrupted their responding protests, "Don't question your mother."

Ah, the dad voice. Yet another gift given to men. Their daughters had their father wrapped around their little fingers, but still, when he wanted, his deep voice could move them to action in a way even Stephanie, their most frequent disciplinarian, only dreamed of. She rolled her eyes towards her husband when all three girls bounded up the mansion's main stairs.

An hour and a half later, the family laid out cookies, milk, and carrots for Santa and his reindeer. The children were then tucked in, youngest to oldest, with bedtime stories, kisses, and Mastiff cuddles. All was well as the founding members of the McMahon-Helmsley Era quietly snuck downstairs to drink milk, eat cookies and carrots, and place Santa's presents beneath the tree.

They were in the kitchen for two seconds before Paul pressed himself to Stephanie's back and wrapped his arms around her.

"Stoooop," she giggled as he pressed kisses to the side of her neck, his nose tickling her as he nuzzled.

"What," he questioned with a flirtatious tone. "You eat the cookies, I'll eat you."

She laughed some more before playfully elbowing him away.

"Come on, so we can go to bed."

He rolled his eyes despite her clear suggestion and followed her to the counter. She ate the cookies, he chewed on the carrots, and they made a mutual decision to pour the milk down the sink. They'd had wine with dinner and that mix was too gross even for the love of their children. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

"I'm gonna go grab the presents," he said, turning towards the door leading to the basement.

"Don't forget your sack," she nodded towards the red velvet bag with a smirk.

He gave her a look but headed down the stairs with the sack hanging over his shoulder.

Stephanie walked into the adjoining family room where the Christmas tree stood and straightened out its skirt in preparation for the presents. Soon there was a pile of wrapped gifts beside her and she was throwing a, "thanks, baby," over her shoulder when he left again to the basement for more packages. She didn't look up when he deposited another pile two more times. She diligently straightened bows, fluffed colored tissue paper, and organized the presents until the area was picture perfect.

When she finished, Stephanie stood with her hands on her hips and admired the lit tree along with its gifts.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Yes, it is."

She could tell from his deep tone that he wasn't talking about the tree. She could feel his eyes on her back. Turning, she smiled brightly.

Paul stood in the archway, beneath the mistletoe, donning the Santa coat and hat to match his red pants and black boots. He felt a bit stupid, but her reaction was worth it.

"Santa?"

He laughed, "A modified version."

She was in front of him in a second, toying with the front his coat.

"I like it," she purred. Her eyes sparkled when she undid the big belt and saw that he had taken off his thermal. Her fingers immediately touched his bare chest.

"I can't believe this is doing it for you."

"Why?"

"Cause it's ridiculous."

"I'm into anything when it comes to you."

He tried to smirk, but it was a smile really. She was, and had always been, open about how attractive she found him. It was a turn on, but he'd never outgrown blushing because of it. For emphasis she petted his abs.

"You're a freak," he added.

Her eyebrow arched cockily and that smirk was on her face.

"I'm a McMahon," she said as her fingers dipped to stroke the lines of his V.

"You're all fucked up."

"You love it"

"I do," he groaned. She'd plunged a hand into his pants and gripped his length. He closed his eyes at the sensation of her gently tugging him. Her free hand returned to running up and down his stomach.

"No more smartass comments?"

He cracked open his eyes to see that although she was amused, she'd begun to breathe through her mouth.

"No," he answered quietly. "Just wondering if you're gonna keep playing around or actually give me what I want."

"What do you want?" She asked it in the same moment that her thumb moved over his slit. Paul's head tipped back and his nostrils flared. She gripped him harder, teasing him until he was able to speak again.

"You know what I want." His voice was deeper and his hazel eyes had darkened. Stephanie licked her lips.

"Not til you tell me to."

He groaned again. She knew how to touch him, what to say, how to say it. Sometimes it seemed like marriage required more work than it's payoffs. Not in moments like this. Her whisper alone had made his balls tighten.

But he still couldn't help goading her. Again, the complexities of marriage.

"If only you'd listen during anything else. I l can't tell you to do –"

"Keep your fantasies to yourself, baby. It'd be a shame if you pissed me off right now."

Happy wife, happy life. He knew when to keep his mouth shut. Plus, her hand was moving up and down his shaft now. It pulsed in her grip. He chose to enjoy it and watch her eyes follow her fingers as they stroked the muscles of his torso.

When she met his gaze, it was through lowered lashes. And when she spoke, her voice was quiet but high pitched.

"You're so sexy."

_Fuck. _How was he supposed to even think when she talked like that?

"Get on your knees."

Stephanie's smirk was worthy of every stereotype given to her. Hot, rich chick getting what she wanted yet again. She licked her lips for emphasis and removed her hand from the velvet red pants. He hissed at the lack of contact.

She was going to suck her husband's dick in the doorway of their family room with the Christmas tree, and all their children's gifts, a few feet away. She pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips and then gripped his hips, steadying herself so she could kneel before him.

But maternal instinct transcends all. There was a shuffle from somewhere behind her. A barely audible sound; like little bare feet on a shaggy rug. She wouldn't have heard it had she been about to do _anything_ else. But she did and it stilled her for a millisecond. And then there was a small gasp from across the room, and she shoved Paul with all her strength into the kitchen and out of sight from their youngest daughter.

"Mama, was that Santa?"

"Huh? No, baby, I mean, yes. What are you doing out of bed?"

_Oh fuck, oh fuck, OH FUCK! _Paul was panicking as he heard his wife comfort their child. Had she seen him? Had she heard him? _Oh God. _He was going to throw up. He'd always been fine with having daughters. Not boy, no problem. But if she'd heard him? How the fuck was he going to explain that?

"Were you kissing Santa?" The high-pitched giggle that accompanied the naive question sent him down the basement steps. He couldn't handle the stress. He'd been wrong earlier. Stephanie _was_ a saint, a goddess, for dealing with this. He'd buy her a new diamond once the stores opened again. Ten diamonds, a fucking throne if she wanted it.

His erection was gone. It completely deflated with the sound of his daughter's voice. Huffing, he pulled off the ridiculous costume and threw on his outfit from the afternoon. Standing at the bottom of the steps, he rubbed the back of his head in aggravation and delayed ascending. He really wanted no part in this little Hallmark moment.

Creeping up the stairs, he listened carefully for any sign of his family. Nothing. His wife must have escorted the young girl back up to bed. He quietly checked the locks and turned off the lights before sneaking up to the master bedroom. Once he was safety behind the closed door, he stripped down to his briefs, and stepped into a pair of green and red plaid pajama pants that Stephanie had laid out for him. The whole family had a matching set. And then he flopped onto the bed and waited for Stephanie.

She appeared almost ten minutes later. He shot up into a seated position at the edge of the bed, eyes wide.

"We're good," she said as soon as she saw him. "She didn't see anything."

"Did she –"

"She didn't hear anything either," Stephanie laughed at how relieved he looked. Standing before him, she rested her hands on his shoulders.

"You can relax now."

He let out a breath that allowed spine to finally slouch comfortably. His wife smiled sympathetically.

"It's okay, Paul."

"I'm sorry I didn't help. I completely –"

"It's alright. It was better anyways. _Santa _is very busy tonight and had to run along once he heard her."

"So she just thinks you're a trollop?"

Rolling her eyes, Stephanie climbed into her husband's lap, straddling him.

"Noooo. She thinks I was telling Santa how good she and her sisters have been this year." Paul arched a brow so she continued, "The focus needed to be on them, not us. What do you want from me?"

"As long as she didn't hear me talking to you like that."

"She didn't. I promise. Stop freaking out."

"Steph."

"Paul." He rolled his eyes in annoyance and she laughed at him.

"It's not funny. I don't want her thinking –"

"That her parents have sex? She's gonna know eventually." She was clearly joking, but he was in dad mode.

"She doesn't need to know now. And we weren't –"

"Oral sex is basically –" But she could tell that he was genuinely getting annoying with her constant interruptions so she cut herself off. She tended to do that. "Sorry," she added as an after thought.

"Do you ever think maybe your dad was just a little too honest with you?"

"No," she answered shortly. Like she always did when defending Vince.

"Kids don't need to know everything straight out the womb."

"The way you talk, you'd think you really raised by saints. Not everyone can be raised by Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver."

"It was Sunday school. And the Boys & Girls Club."

"And yet you fuck me like –"

He kissed her. The conversation was destined to turn into an argument. Vince had raised his daughter to be lethal in business. She was his heir. The old man had even recently admitted to always knowing this and having it in the back of his mind while raising her. Paul saw this as a conflict of interest. He had been raised conservatively with no ulterior motives. He and Stephanie had met in the middle when deciding how to bring up their own children.

The kiss was relatively innocent. More loving than anything else, and not unlike the one they shared at the alter on their wedding day. Until Paul's lips parted. Then his wife's tongue was slithering into his mouth.

He loved having her on his lap. His hands stroked her sides soothingly as their tongues danced and lips massaged. Erotic, wet sounds filled the room as their make-out turned more heated. Stephanie ground down against his pelvis while his fingers crept up the front of her shirt.

"Mm," she groaned against his lips. "I'll be right back."

"What?" His eyes were wide with momentary confusion but she was already crawling off his lap. "Baby," he whispered, pulling her hand.

"I'll be right back," she repeated with a smile. He flopped back onto the bed again when she disappeared into the bathroom.

A Grinch-like smile stretched across his features. Jumping up, he grabbed his iPhone from the nightstand and quickly connected it to the Bluetooth player across the room. Then he listened for a few minutes as she rummaged around the bathroom. Rolling his eyes, he waited some more until finally –

_I saw mommy kissin' Santa Claus_

_Underneath the mistletoe last night_

"You did not," she laughed while walking back into the room.

"Oh, I did."

Turning, he smiled at her. She had put her hair down and changed into the pajamas that matched his. It was weird how he could find her so sexy and so cute at the same time. Before he could say anything else, she was back in his arms, hands cradling his face and pulling him down for another kiss. He grinned against her lips at the taste of spearmint.

"Did you," he mumbled against her, "really just go brush your teeth?"

"Yes." More kisses until she spoke again, "I also took my make-up off and peed. Don't be such a creep."

Chuckling he returned to their embrace. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he pulled her closer. The cotton of his bottoms allowed for the feel of her against him to be pleasurable. As they their mouths moved in union, he pulled her closer, harder. She squirmed deliberately, enjoying his response to her.

His mouth descended to her neck so she arched backwards. She let out soft moans of encouragement as his tongue swept alongside the sensitive area beneath her ear and she unwrapped her arms from his shoulders. Wanting to pick up where they left off, she pushed his bottoms down past his hips and gripped his semi.

"Careful," she whispered when his reaction to her jerking him was to suck harder on her neck. They were too old for hickeys. Visible ones, at least.

He paid her no mind. He was groaning into her and ready to finally finish what they started downstairs. He pulled away to get on the bed, but she barely followed, her lips kissing down his front and pushing his bottoms down the rest of the way.

"You don't have -"

But she was already on her knees and swirling her tongue around his head.

"Fuck."

He watched her concentrate on pleasing him and the sight had him panting. With a hand at his base, keeping him steady, and the other digging her fingernails into his thigh, he thought he might collapse backwards anyways. But seeing her head bob up and down was too captivating. Her mouth was warm and wet and she hollowed her cheeks to intensify the feeling. He couldn't take it.

"Oh God," he moaned shamelessly while tipping his head back and closing his eyes. His hands moved to her head, fingers tangling in her hair, absently massaging her scalp. For a few minutes, he enjoyed himself, mind clearing of absolutely everything but the feel of her mouth and the sounds that her actions produced.

When it got to be too much, he gulped and looked down. Stephanie instantly felt his eyes on her and looked up. She made a show of letting her tongue leave her mouth and run up the underside of his dick. She paused and let his tip rest on her tongue. He watched precum leak into her mouth before her lips closed to place a soft kiss onto the swollen head. Then she swallowed and he lost his mind.

Yanking her head up towards him, he was bent in half, shoving his tongue in her mouth. She moaned in approval as he manhandled her to her feet. His hands roughly pulled down her pajama pants and she tore away from his kiss to kick them off completely. She almost lost her balance when he yanked her shirt over head but his hands on her hips kept her up right. His mouth dove to her breasts for a moment before he spun them to throw her onto the bed.

Literally.

A girlish squeal left her and he would have shh'ed her had he not been so hell bent on getting inside her. Mounting his wife immediately, their tongues battled again while he cupped between her legs.

"Paul," she gasped. It was music to his ears.

Two thick fingers pushed into her. Stephanie's hips pressed up to meet him, moaning into his mouth and pulling his face harshly against hers. His thumb swiped back and forth across her clit soliciting more happy sounds from her throat.

She could be very aggressive, the little princess he married. When he started to nip down her body to return her previous favors, she roughly jerked his head back up to hers.

"No," she grumbled against his lips.

She didn't stop her assault, lips and teeth devouring his mouth so he had to speak between kisses.

"You... just..."

"I want it _now_."

_Ugh, she's perfect. _How many times had he thought that in his life? He should say it to her more often. He pushed into her with barely a warning and smiled like the Cheshire cat at her gasp.

"No fair," she whined. But her smile matched his as his lips descended to hers.

Paul thrusted in a slow but firm rhythm. One of his big hands cradled the back of her head, supporting her as they kissed. The other gripped her left leg that wrapped around him. Pulling almost completely out, he dove back in to the hilt over and over, making sure to push against her pelvis. He liked to think himself an expert at pleasing his wife, and he was right. Her walls pulsed around him appreciatively.

"Harder."

A shrieked command right as he pushed into her particularly pleasurably. He obliged immediately. Releasing her head and thigh, he gripped the sheets for leverage and began pounding into her. Once, twice, his wife buried her face into the crook of his neck to avoid waking the kids. Sweet ecstasy was just minutes away. He panted in time with his thrusts. Inhale, exhale, listen to her whimper, and then, _bang_, hit that spot. Repeat. And then repeat again. _Bang. _Oh God, it was so good.

_Bang!_

Wait! Was the banging happening outside of his head? Stephanie groaned when the noise shook her from her state of bliss. Stilling inside of her, he couldn't believe the absurdity of the night.

"What the fuck is that?" He was legitimately angry.

"The bed," she complained breathlessly.

"You're shitting me." _It had cost a fortune!_

"It wasn't you. One of the boards on the bottom broke. I couldn't get the guys to come fix it before the holiday so I just MacGyver'ed it."

He pulled his dick from her, "What?"

She pouted at the sight of his manhood. It rested on her stomach, glistening and perfect and very much not pleasing her. This was the worst Christmas ever.

"The kids were chasing the dog and it snapped when they all jumped onto the bed."

"What was the dog even doing in here, Stephanie?"

She usually snapped whenever his dad voice slipped into their arguments, but she was almost too annoyed to even notice it. Huffing, she pushed him off of her. Paul's tone changed immediately.

"Baby, I can't –"

"Get on the floor."

The night had been too much of a cluster-fuck for themnottofuck. She was getting an orgasm out of this one way or another. Guiding him off the bed and onto the carpet in one smooth motion, Stephanie straddled him eagerly.

"What a shit show," he groaned as she gently pushed his shoulders down. "I can't believe –"

The feeling of his wife impaling herself onto him would have shut him up regardless. But it was the sight of it that really did it. She sucked in a huge breath as her head tipped back. He saw her eyes roll back just before they disappeared from his sight. She steadied herself against his stomach as her back arched. Her breasts, impeccable as always, looked amazing from his new vantage point. His hands shot to her hips, her skin like silk beneath his fingers.

He'd told her once, during a rare bout of intoxication, that he only felt whole when physically connected to her. She'd laughed at him, but he'd secretly meant it. He was buried inside of her with no space separating them and his entire body seemed to tremble from the union. And his brain seemed to shut off because he'd usually be embarrassed by how his toes curled.

Stephanie didn't help the situation. She was clearly enjoying their new positioning and did nothing to hide it. Head falling forward, Paul watched her rise a bit on her knees to gently rock against him. She kept him inside but pushed her clit against his pelvic bone and moaned softly.

"Steph," he croaked her name, his throat raw.

Her eyes opened halfway; glazed, dilated, and ocean blue. Her front teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she continued to grind against him. Paul could barely take it. He reached for a breast and her face at the same time. His eyes bounced from where they were joined, to her eyes, to his left thumb circling her nipple, to his right thumb pulling her lip free from her teeth. His wife didn't look away from his face, however, so soon they were staring intensely into each other's eyes as her pace quickened.

Stephanie's hands moved to his chest to support her as she rode him harder and faster. He met her movements eagerly, ready to stop playing and take them where they wanted. Finally. She leaned further forward to put more pressure on her g-spot and he knew instantly that he had her. Smacking his hands to her ass, he forced her to bounce up and down harder against him. Watching her face contort with pleasure, his ego swelled to rival his father-in-law's. She was soon stifling her cries against his neck and he was blowing her hair out of his face.

Tossing her head back to flip her hair, she gripped the carpet on either side of his head. It was hard to stay balanced with the force of his thrusts and watching his look of concentration sent her eyes rolling back again.

They were delirious with pleasure. So much so that their sounds were getting louder so Stephanie's maternal conscious kicked in again and she pushed her tongue into his mouth to try and quiet them. They needed just a bit more. She fell to her forearms, and being stomach to stomach did it. She tore her mouth away from his to suck in air as the orgasm ripped through her. She moaned into his ear with satisfaction as the spasms wracked her body.

It set him off. He cried out for a millisecond before her hand was on his mouth, muffling him. Emptying himself inside her, he saw stars and her whimpers sounded further away as instinct took over. His hands gripped her cheeks painfully hard, pulling her tightly against him. Their torsos, slicked with sweat, slowed to a stop as their tremors subsided. Stephanie's hand fell limply from his mouth.

It took a moment for them to calm down. Panting, Stephanie lay on top of him exhausted. She'd long ago lost any concerns of crushing him. He liked the weight of her on top of him and refused to let her leave until he was good and ready. And he was never finished with her until he'd spent at least a few minutes stroking his hands up and down her back. Like she was a dog. Or a very large cat. It was a weird quirk that she used to dislike but over ten years together had evolved her judgment. She found it soothing now. He recently joked that he'd "trained" her to like it. It hadn't gone over well.

_Then I saw mommy tickle Santa Claus_

_Underneath his beard so snowy white_

They heard it at the same time and simultaneously erupted into fits of giggles.

"Why is that still playing," she asked.

"I put it on repeat."

Another round of laughter had him hugging her to his chest. It was well past their usual bedtime and they were parents of three children under 10. Exhaustion and happiness mixed to keep them giggling over the silly song. And then they laughed because they were giggling. And then because they couldn't stop laughing.

Once they settled, Paul took note of the time and groaned when Stephanie took the initiative to get up.

"Come on, the kids will be up soon."

But he stayed on his back, enjoying the view of her standing over him.

"I'm good," he sighed contently until she started to walk away. "Where are you going?"

"To get a towel."

"Hmm. You could just," and he cocked his head towards his flaccid penis.

"Ew, Paul. It's Christmas Eve."

He looked outraged as she walked away.

"You just gave me a blow jo –"

"That was different."

"How is that –"

But she had disappeared into the bathroom and he knew that the sound of sink would drown out his voice. He passed the time by humming along to the Christmas song with his fingers interlocked behind his head. When Stephanie returned, she smiled down at him and he couldn't resist responding in kind.

Her eyes raked over his form. He was toned more than ever. The hair on his chest and legs was a bit longer than usual due his new status as a part-time performer. His manhood, though limp, was still thick and impressive as it lay sated against his thigh. He was a stud in every sense of the word.

"You really are so sexy," she whispered hoarsely when she met his eyes. Paul's face reddened. Taking the small white towel she held out to him, he gently cleaned himself and avoided her gaze. "Cute too," she laughed.

"Shut up, Steph," he grumbled.

They dressed, turned off the bedside lamps, and turned down the bed in a comfortable silence. The last to go was the music.

"Tomorrow's gonna suck."

"No, it's not," she shot back.

"We're getting no sleep," he said with another glance at her alarm clock.

"They'll be in here bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and you'll light up like you do every year."

Paul settled behind her, spooning her back to his chest and kissing her shoulder.

"I can't help myself," he whispered. "They have their mom's eyes."

He felt her smile as she turned to kiss him goodnight. Sleep was seconds away for both of them. But then Paul spoke again.

"What a fucking mess tonight was."

The master bedroom was once again filled with childlike giggles. 'Twas the night before Christmas.


End file.
